


How to Care for a Dragon

by StarllingWrites



Series: Monster Tales [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Domestic monsters, Pet dragon, monster pet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23818816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarllingWrites/pseuds/StarllingWrites
Summary: When I went to check outside after hearing a calamity from my garbage cans, I expected to spy a racoon or opossum, not a baby dragon. A hurt baby dragon at that. I didn't have the heart to just let it carry on when it clearly needed help. So I brought the little guy inside. I didn't plan on him staying...
Series: Monster Tales [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1434211
Kudos: 2





	How to Care for a Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the following prompt from the tumblr user [write-it-mother-fuckers](https://write-it-motherfuckers.tumblr.com/post/187821220822/write-it-motherfuckers-out-of-all-the-things-you):  
> Out of all the things you thought you would find rustling around behind your bins at 3 am in the morning, none of them came even remotely close. You can only stare down in shock, at what is very clearly a small dragon, wriggling and hissing in your gloved grasp. 
> 
> It looks pretty roughed up and emaciated, tiny body obviously weak, as it quickly runs out of energy while trying to wriggle out of your grasp, even trying to sink tiny razor sharp teeth into the thick glove. If you weren’t so use to handling your squirming ferrets and the occasional feral raccoon, you’re pretty sure they may have managed to get away, even in their weakened state.

****

**I had no idea how to care for a dragon—**

Yet I took the little one in. I left him in the bathroom while I grabbed provisions. Food, water, a couple spare towels. The entire time I gathered things, I was looking up how to care for a dragon. It was all overwhelming. I don’t know why I bothered researching so much; I’d only have to look after him until I handed him over to the wildlife preserve once they opened.

Once work hours finally rolled around, I called up the rescue center and got an appointment right away. Thankfully, the dragon was small enough that I could use the carriers I used to take my ferrets to the vet.

I wasn’t obligated to stay as the vet went about a routine check, but I waited. I was worried about the poor baby. The vet later told me that something likely happened that made the dragon’s mother abandon him. At such a young age, hunting was difficult, thus resulting in him rummaging through my trash. Apparently, I caught him just in time too. He had eaten something that was causing an obstruction. A few more days and…

The surgery was going to be pricey but I could afford it. I had been saving up to go back to school, but this was more important. School could wait, if it meant saving a life. When I mentioned the news to friends, I got mixed reactions. Some were supportive and proud of me for being so kindhearted. A few criticized me, saying I was making a mistake for throwing away my future for a feral animal—I started to cut these people out of my life after this revelation.

I agreed to foster the dragon while he recovered from surgery. The vet office needed the space, and it would cut down on my bill. I still had work, but hopefully I could get someone to come over during my work hours to watch over him. I didn’t trust the little dragon to not destroy my home or attack my ferrets, Socks and Dr. Fusby.

As the days passed, I watched his personality burst forth. Despite all my worries, he _loved_ Socks and Fusby, and they loved him too. While I had to keep the ferrets locked up overnight, all three of them pestered me until I let the little noodles out to play and cuddle and nap with their new scaly friend. My phone was now filled with picture and videos of them.

He needed a name still.

**I had no idea how to care for a dragon—**

However, the little guy was in no state to be released into the wild. With a damaged wing, he would likely never fly. And given how bad he had done on his own before, the specialist didn’t think he’d survive long if released. I asked to keep him. He was already used to my place and loved my ferrets. It would be a challenge, but I was up for it. I’d make it work.

After much consultation and agreeing to many follow up appointments with both the vet and the wildlife rehabilitator, they gave me the greenlight.

Now that he was officially mine, I felt comfortable giving him a name. Given he was pale green with black speckles, and what he was eating when I found him, I decided to name him Kiwi.

On the way home, I stopped by the pet store and got a brand new collar for Kiwi. I also got him a harness and a couple toys. The cashier was shocked to see a dragon, but quickly called up their coworkers so they could all gush and pet him. Kiwi loved the attention.

Finally home again, Kiwi wanted nothing more than to play with Socks and Fusby. I picked the furry noodles out of their cage and sat down on the floor. While being a jungle-gym for two ferrets and a baby dragon ended me with a lot of scratches and a rat’s nest where my hair used to be, I did manage to get a cute picture of the four of us. A new family photo. I’d have to get it printed and framed soon.

Training a dragon was similar to training a dog. Sort of. He learned the basic repertoire quickly, and more so that obeying my commands got him food. Then, Kiwi started doing them without prompting. He would walk up to me and sit or lie down, which should have been a good thing. But if I didn’t notice him soon enough, he’d started whining; and if I didn’t give him a treat, he’d start wailing and flapping his wings carelessly, knocking things over.

I really hoped this was just a phase he’d grow out of. Soon.

I wasn’t ready for when Kiwi started breathing fire. I became close friends with the fire department. But after the third major fire Kiwi caused, something had to change.

I began looking for a new home, something made of bricks or stone—something less flammable. The only property I found was quite out of the way, but that made it affordable. When I went to the house for a tour, I learned that it was right next to its own little pond with a rocky shore. I could already see Kiwi sunning himself there in the summer; Socks and Dr. Fusby would enjoy being outside in the warm months too.

I bought the house.

Moving was a hassle in every way possible, but it would be worth it in the end. Now Kiwi had plenty of room to run around. And less things to set on fire. Another thing that worked out well was there were plenty of trees for him to claw. He shed his talons like a cat, and the bigger he grew, the faster he destroyed traditional scratching posts.

How quickly this new house became a home.

**I had no idea how to care for a dragon—**

So I grew concerned about Kiwi’s size when he rivaled a moose. He could barely fit in the house now—which was a fact he did _not_ seem to realize. I began renovations. I opened the existing house as much as I could, then added a new room all for Kiwi. It might be more appropriate to call it a barn than a room.

As he grew up, I became less worried about him being outside. His manners had improved greatly and he was such a mama’s boy that I was confident he wouldn’t run away. Some days he’d take longer to return when I called him in for dinner or for bed, but he always came home. I decided to remove the outer doors to his room so he could go in and out whenever he liked.

Then he started climbing the house and the trees. I was at a loss at what to do when he refused to come down. It wasn’t like I could call the fire department to help get him—he was too large for anyone to move without his consent. I wouldn’t have minded exactly, except he kept felling the trees. It was a mess. And I worried about him hurting himself.

At a loss for what to do, I called up the wildlife experts who had helped me when I found him. They suggested that Kiwi likely enjoyed the view and missed flying. Of course, how could I have not guessed that? He often ran around flapping his wings. But that was only half of the issue solved. Now I had to figure out what to do about it.

I was relaxing at home, looking for something to watch on TV, when inspiration struck. It was an old movie that gave me the thought: a tower. There was plenty of land around to build a tower big enough to support Kiwi’s growing weight. I could add scaffolds along the outside for him to climb—and stairs for me to climb so I could join him up there.

Time for more construction.

It was a challenge to keep him off the tower as it was being built. I had to chain him up by the pond to keep him away. His cries and whimpers for freedom broke my heart, but it needed to be done. I offered to help lay some of the stones so the construction would go minutely faster. It was exhausting work.

Once the final brick was set, everyone gathered with food and drinks to watch as I unleashed Kiwi. His eyes were glowing with joy, locked onto the top of the tower. The moment he felt the chain go slack, he bounded forward and scaled the tower like a giant cat. When he reached the top, he let out a jubilant roar and burst of flames; he was so proud and happy.

**I had no idea how to care for a dragon—**

But letting one into my life and into my heart was the best decision of my life.


End file.
